Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2) (19 page)

He said, “There’s a lot of strange stuff going on here. I don’t like the idea of coincidences, so I’m giving you as much information as I can. Maybe Helios has a background in exotic explosives. You’d be able to find out about that faster than I would.”

Benjamin went silent again, mulling things over.

“You’re right,” she said. “Thanks for the cooperation. Can you have Sergeant Stanley send me any information he has on Nikos Sideris?”

“Will do.”

“I’ll let you know what I find out,” Benjamin said.

“The next thing you know,” Ron told her, “the lion will lie down with the lamb.”

The FBI agent laughed. “I won’t ask who’s who.”

Then she was gone. Ron hadn’t told her of Tall Wolf’s surmise about the gold. He wasn’t entirely sure he bought that. Maybe because he didn’t want to. Yeah, there was the Walsh gold at the Muni Complex. If they were lucky, that would be the end of it.

He shuddered at the thought of the mountain slopes around town crawling with prospectors. He’d read that in the current hard times the number of gold-hunters in the Sierra had already multiplied. If someone had actually found a large deposit nearby …

He wouldn’t want to be the sheriff of Deadwood.

Or the mayor.

Sergeant Stanley called back. Said he’d been contacted by Roger Sutherland, Jake Burkett and a few other locals. They wanted to volunteer their time and watercraft to help the department patrol the lake at night.

Ron wasn’t ready to let the public know that the bomb might have been a hoax. Doing so would alert the
bomber
that his ruse, if that’s what it was, had been discovered. Better to have that information remain closely held.

The chief also didn’t want armed citizens out on the lake in the dark. The shooting of innocents would practically be a given. Couldn’t have that. Still, it would be good for public morale to have people think they were being useful. Protecting themselves and their neighbors.

“Here’s what we’ll do, Sarge,” Ron said. “We’ll put two boats out at a time overnight instead of one. On each boat, there’ll be one cop and one civilian lookout. Only the cop gets to be armed. With the shift change, that means four townspeople per night will get to be helpful. That’s as far as we’ll go.”

“Good plan, Chief.”

“Thanks. Make sure everyone wears a life jacket.”

Wouldn’t do to have anyone drown either.

“And have our guys stay in frequent contact. We don’t want any friendly fire mishaps either.”

Ron clicked off. He turned his thoughts back to Helios Sideris. It’d be nice if Abra Benjamin could find a criminal record on the guy. That would make questioning him less problematic. Sergeant Stanley already had every patrol cop on duty looking for him.

Now, the chief was searching, too.

That made him think of the last time he’d tried to find an out-of-town criminal. Didier DuPree. Ron never did catch up with that SOB. But justice had been done nonetheless.

Sometimes that was the best you could hope for.

Marlene Flower Moon wanted to take a walk along Goldstrike’s lakeshore.

“This really is a pretty place, isn’t it, Tall Wolf?”

John nodded. “Yes, it is. I was wondering the other day what it must have been like for the Native American who first spotted Michael and Adeline Walsh’s cabin.”

Marlene smiled. “You’re finally getting in touch with your ancestral spirits?”

“You know better than that. What was it you called me, a strawberry short cake? Red on the outside, white on the inside.”

“I’ve been trying to work out a better metaphor. I’ll let you know when I have one. Still, if you had that thought, something’s stirring inside you.”

“A general sense of unease,” Tall Wolf said.

“Because of me?”

“You and the way the world reacts generally to attempts to do good deeds.”

“Squashes most of them like bugs,” Marlene said.

“Maybe you should be a little more optimistic in this case.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

“There could be something in it for you,” Tall Wolf said.

Marlene stopped in her tracks. Coyote was interested. A lame rabbit might be hiding behind the next bush just waiting to be devoured. Sometimes, Tall Wolf thought he read too much into his boss’s eyes. But not this time. Marlene’s ambition was boundless.

Having John Tall Wolf serve her purposes only made the prospect more delicious.

“What might be in it for me?” she asked.

“Gratitude from Herbert Wilkins’ people … the kind you can take to the bank.”

A nascent politician, Marlene was building a war chest.

But she knew better than to think Tall Wolf would simply hand her a gift.

“What would I need to do to earn this gratitude?” she said.

“Maybe pull a few strings when I ask you.”

“And what’s in it for you?”

“Nothing tangible, taxable or incriminating,” Tall Wolf said.

Marlene smiled, revealing those incisors of hers. So damn carnivorous.

“You always were the smart young man,” Marlene said.

“We’ll see,” Tall Wolf told her. “But there is one more thing you should know.”

“And that would be?”

“Clay Steadman. Did you notice anything different about him?”

Marlene knew the last thing Tall Wolf was asking for would be any
intimate
details.

“He’s seems a bit older, but then he
is
getting old.”

“Chief Ron Ketchum told me Clay Steadman is dying.”

Marlene’s jaw dropped.

“Alzheimer’s,” Tall Wolf added. “His doctors say he has a year, maybe two before he’s incapacitated.”

“Christ!”

“
Gitche Manitou.
Great Spirit, if you want to get Algonquian about it,” Tall Wolf said.

He was twitting Coyote about lapsing into a Christian exclamation and she knew it.

Tall Wolf had given himself room to do that.

Warning Marlene that one of her expected sources of campaign funds would be out of the picture, no show biz pun intended, sooner than expected was important information. She’d have to look for replacement money.

Thoughtful fellow that he was, Tall Wolf had already suggested Herbert Wilkins as an alternative. Meaning Marlene would be more willing to help when Tall Wolf called on her.

John Tall Wolf’s adoptive parents had given him Machiavelli to read.

“My God,” Walt said with a broad smile, “Keely Powell, all grown up.”

“Yeah, for about thirty years now, you old goat.”

She hugged the elder Ketchum and bussed his cheek as Ron looked on. The three of them were at Clay Steadman’s house. The mayor didn’t join them.

Walt held on to Keely’s hands for a moment.

“I may be old,” he told her, “but I’ve come into some money lately. Any chance I can steal you away from my boy?”

Keely told him, “We’ll see how the next few days go. Maybe I’ll give you a call.”

Ron rolled his eyes and asked, “The mayor here, Dad? I’d like a word with him.”

Walt shook his head. “Clay took off about thirty minutes ago. He’s another old goat out with a younger woman tonight. Might be expected for a movie star, but this woman …”

Walt searched for the words, as if there’d just been a short in his wiring.

Ron asked, “She was a Native American?”

Walt nodded. “Yeah. Her name’s Marlene. She’s really something. Gorgeous but … I don’t know if dangerous is the right word. Maybe wild. Something like that, but …”

“Worth the risk?” Keely asked.

“Yeah, exactly,” Walt said. “How about we get going? I’m hungry.”

Ron gestured to the door, made sure it was locked when they left. Walt strode ahead of the two younger people. Keely leaned into Ron and whispered, “I’ve always thought Walt is where you got your good looks.”

His father did cut a presentable figure in his coat and tie. Looked like he’d just got a haircut, too. Clay had a stylist who made house calls. The thought occurred to Ron just then that maybe Veronika Novak had brought her clippers to Hale Tibbot’s house on a regular basis. Sure, she had. Someone with Tibbot’s money wouldn’t plunk himself down in a salon and wait for his appointment time to roll around.

Having Veronika come to his house would also make it so much more convenient for the two of them to slip upstairs to his bedroom. Ron could imagine her up there sleeping when Tibbot was killed. Had she heard something that had woken her? Had she seen the killer while remaining out of his sight?

He was going to ask her.

Keely had informed him there was no other stylist on Tibbot’s list of ladies.

She told Ron, “You don’t have to worry about my leaving you for your dad.”

“You’ll just skin him for everything he has and come back to me?”

“Exactly,” she said and gave him a quick kiss.

Santo Alighieri and Divine Babson were the two Goldstrike cops assigned to watch the Jade Emperor construction site that night. They’d pulled the same duty the night before. Boring. The town was hardly a hotbed of criminal activity even at the worst of times. The local cops knew they had it comparatively easy. Dying on the job was a remote possibility.

In the past three years only one copper had bought it in the line of duty.

Sort of. He was really off duty, but acting in a professional capacity.

A woman named Meryl Parnell had learned that her husband’s secondhand smoke had given her terminal lung cancer. She’d begged the prick for years to stop smoking. Upon hearing the fatal diagnosis, she decided it would be only fair for her husband to die at her hand. So one night she persuaded her husband to buy her one last dinner out. While he was out warming up the car, she extinguished the pilot light on the stove and turned on the gas.

The idea was that when they returned home she’d find an excuse to stay with the car for a minute and he’d open the front door — with his inevitable cigarette in his mouth. The bastard still hadn’t given up smoking, pointing out that cigarettes hadn’t given
him
cancer.

With luck, though, one would kill him.

The lit end of his smoke would touch off the gas and that would be that.

Vengeance would be hers.

Only Ned, the callous husband, got suspicious while the couple was out. He thought it odd that his wife, though dying and having to hold a handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed almost continuously, would smile at him as often as her condition allowed. Like everything was perfectly fine and she’d forgiven him for what he’d done to her.

Ned didn’t buy that for a minute.

With uncanny insight, he figured Meryl somehow meant to kill him.

He excused himself, pleading a need to use the men’s room and called his friend and next door neighbor, Officer Lowell Murray. Ned explained he thought Meryl had a hit-man waiting for him when they got home. That seemed the most likely possibility to him.

Lowell laughed and said he’d go check things out.

Officer Murray was another chain-smoker. Unlike Ned, he was thoughtful enough to step outside when he wanted a smoke. He’d heard through Meryl and his wife Lorna that Ned had called him a pussy for being so sensitive. He didn’t care. His wife didn’t have cancer in her lungs or anywhere else.

Wasn’t looking to bump him off either.

Lowell Murray picked up the spare key from under the rock where the Parnells kept it. He hadn’t even brought his duty weapon with him. A hit-man waiting for Ned? Well … maybe. He wondered if he should go home for his gun. He already had the key in the lock, though. He’d just take a peek inside. He opened the front door.

With a lit cigarette in his mouth.

One he’d fired up the moment he left his house.

The explosion killed Officer Murray instantly.

Shoved his cigarette down his throat, where the ME found it.

Lowell Murray had been a great guy, mourned and missed by everyone who knew him.

The lesson learned by his brother and sister officers was: If your neighbor’s wife doesn’t kill you, you’re probably safe.

Still, the officers of the Goldstrike PD had become sensitized to loud noises that might be the sounds of an explosion. So when a car parked a block up Lake Shore Drive from the Jade Emperor construction site blew up and burst into flames, Santo Alighieri and Divine Babson levitated off their seats and trembled when they came back down.

They’d been bitching about getting such boring duty until that moment.

Watching a damn deserted construction site two nights running, come on!

Now, all that was over. There was no choice for them but to rush to the blazing vehicle — all the while praying there wouldn’t be a second blast — and see if they might help someone.

No sooner had they departed their post than a figure in dark clothes vaulted the construction site fence, carrying an object the size of a picnic basket.